


His Muse

by renzie17



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, F/M, Renaissance Era, jue - Freeform, musician au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renzie17/pseuds/renzie17
Summary: Jet is a rising musician with many patrons, a troubadour who travels the world with a group of fellow musicians. He and his friends have been commissioned to write music for the Royal House of the Northern Water Tribe and were requested to travel there to meet with Arnook, the head of the family.
Relationships: Jet/Yue (Avatar)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	His Muse

**Author's Note:**

> I have been touched by a muse and I just kept on writing. ldnclanvavnkjf I didn't want to make another fic I may or may not be able to continue, but here we are.
> 
> I was thinking of an AU where Jet's a poet/songwriter and Yue is his muse then I started writing and remembered some things I learned from my History of Music class this semester. I'm not 100% sure if prominent families hold banquets for their court musicians, but this world isn't exactly set in the real world anyway, more like a mix of atla + irl renaissance stuff.
> 
> Shoutout to my ph zutara fam the titx of zutara for this massive brainrot HAHAHA
> 
> Enjoy!

Jet is a rising musician with many patrons, a troubadour who travels the world with a group of fellow musicians. He and his friends have been commissioned to write music for the Royal House of the Northern Water Tribe and were requested to travel there to meet with Arnook, the head of the family.

When they arrive, they are greeted hospitably by maids and are shown to the guest quarters where they can rest before dinner is served. The maids make small talk, telling them excitedly how their masters have been looking forward to their arrival for weeks—it’s a long journey from the Earth Kingdom after all. They tell the young musicians about how everyone from the Royal House of the Northern Water Tribe has heard all about them and have prepared a banquet for them and that even Arnook’s daughter, Yue, had prepared a song to sing.

They cut the pleasantries as they arrive at the guest wing, an entire wing all to themselves. It all looks plain and simple, but there’s a fantastic view of the garden through the windows of their rooms. Instead of taking a rest before dinner, Jet decides to have a short walk around the vast grounds of the family, hoping to find inspiration for the piece his patron was paying him for.

It’s in the gardens where he sees her, but he isn’t sure if she is real or just an illusion, for her hair is white as snow, a stark contrast to the brown of her skin. She is kneeling by the pond, her hand reaching for the fishes swimming in the cool deep green pools. She looks entranced by the water, her attention fully on the fishes that fearlessly approach her waiting hand.

He is mesmerized by her. He has never met anyone with ivory hair, nor anyone with a countenance as sublime. She seems to have noticed his presence when she slowly turns her head to his spot behind a tall hedge of evergreens. He is stricken with a jolt up his spine when he sees her eyes. They are blue, but not the regular kind of blue he would see on the girls he meets in the taverns he drinks at or in the courts he performs for. No, her blue eyes seemed to glow. So blue they were almost white, so bright they almost glowed.

His breath hitches as he realizes he was staring. Before he can stop himself, he runs away, back into the tall gates that lead to the gardens, through elaborate halls of the manor, and into the safe space that was his guest room. He’ panting, sweat has formed on his forehead, dribbling down to his thick brows.

'What was that?' he thinks, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his bedside.

A fairy? He’s heard stories, but she looked too human-sized to be one. Were fairies actually of that size?

An angel? Probably. But don’t angels have wings? A halo?

A muse?

Perhaps. Because now his hands jittered with a newfound vigor.

He’s itching to write something, sing something, do something, anything. His mind is awake, he breathes fast as he takes in the empty guest room, looking for a subject, but at that moment, anything could have been his subject and he would have been able to write something about it.

He could bring color to that plain, monochrome room if he wanted to.

He takes parchment from his traveling pack, some ink and a quill and begins to write verses upon verses of lines and poetry. He takes out his lute and brings life to the words he’s written on the paper as he sings melodies he could never have imagined himself singing.

That’s what she was: a muse. It's the only explanation he could come up with as the memory of her ethereal beauty repeats over and over in his mind.

He is filled with the need to put together words and create melodies about her, all about her. Whatever comes to mind, she is there, consuming, consuming, consuming his every thought.

He then remembers the window overlooking the gardens and whips his head, hoping she is there, but alas! She is gone.


End file.
